Morte D'Arthur
by beanette
Summary: Arthur's bold and passionate daughter struggles to rebuild her kingdom and resist the allure of forbidden love. The King Arthur legend retold. R
1. the return of the wanderer

Chapter One:

The Return of the Wanderer

I brought spring with me to Camelot.

The great city gates towered above the winding dusty pathway, bold as my father's vision. I paused before the gate, running my fingers over the stones lovingly, tracing the inscription chiseled on the lintel. "Might for right," I whispered, "and thus may it always be."

I had all my father's height and bearing, his coarse red hair and ready grin; in time I would attain his easy grace as well, though at seventeen I was a girl pretending to be a woman, a princess pretending to be a queen. Leaning against the great gate in my rich dark cape lined with mink, I must have seemed part of a vanished age of luxury.

I rapped loudly on the oaken panel. To my surprise, the door swung open on shattered hinges.

Within, that peerless gem of Britain, the Camelot I loved dearer than my own life and pined for when out of sight of those crenellated walls, lay in ruins. Buildings had collapsed into stone cairns; men at arms scavenged through the rubble, constructing mean huts out of the white limestone that made the city glow like a gem of crystal and jasper in the early morning light. Oh, my heavenly Jerusalem, how greatly art thou altered! Ragged men and women hunted food in the filthy thoroughfare; some speared rats on stakes while others roasted cats and dogs in dirty fires in the street. No troubadour's melody, no tremulous plucked notes drifted in the wild spring air, but hoarse cat-calls, barkings, screeches of gutted cats as I closed the door silently behind me, moved with pity and indignity. Disease ate like a canker in their pinched white faces, but worse than the stench of death was the pall of despair, hanging heavy as smoke about the ruined town.

"Camelot?" I repeated it, disbelieving. "I have come to Camelot?"

An old leper shuffled forward. Only his ice-blue eyes visible through his swathe of bandages about his rotting face. He stretched out a hand gross with sores and pustules, his shriveled fingers wrapped in rags. "Where were you when Camelot fell? Where were you when the Table splintered?" His cloudless blue eyes snapped with malice. "Where were you –"

"I was away. The king my father sent me away," I said softly. "Told me of a precious sword in the wilds of Logres, told me I must fetch it, and bring honor to my house . . ."

"And did you discover it?"

I nodded, warily. He leaned forward eagerly; I shook my head. "You would not understand, if I told you . . . you should laugh, and think me mad. But what has happened? Where is my father?"

"He is gone. All of them are gone."

I stumbled back, as if from a blow. "_My_ _father_? Gone? Where?"

"To heaven or to hell. It matters naught to us." The man snatched me by the arm. He dug his sharp fingernails into the flesh of my arm, drawing me into a deserted alley with surprising strength. I complied, too astonished to protest.

He leaned forward, drawing the rag back from dirty, yet wholesome flesh.

I knew that craggy face. I grinned. "Kay?"

"Not so loud." My father's loyal seneschal and boyhood comrade whispered, "you must not walk abroad, princess. There are men who thrive off lawlessness . . ."

"But some of my father's friends must remain. My kinsmen – where are they?"

"Gawain is dead. Mordred . . . Mordred vanished when disease struck in autumn; he tossed us aside when he could wring no more from us. Your father's tutor the wizard remains; where I know not."

I glanced about the shattered town, the once-glorious city of Caerleon. Already they had begun pilfering stones from the walls, herding swine in the thoroughfares where my father once trod like a god among men. "Where did we go wrong, Kay?"

"When your father lay with that Cornish whore. Ever since that night, we have been fated for a reckoning." He glanced about, taking me by the arm. "It isn't safe for a young woman to walk alone . . . come, I shall take you home; we shall decide upon some course there. But you must dispense with finery." He swept off his grimy cape, tying it about my throat, pulling the hood over my hair. His eyes welled up with tears – stout stolid Kay, my father's doughty man-at-arms, who had not cried at his own mother's funeral. He embraced me tightly, pressing his rough bearded face in my thick red hair. "Perchance _Jesu_ has not deserted us." He held me at arms' length, laughing and sniffling. He swiped his nose with his ragged sleeve, then composed himself. "Come, my child. There is much we must do."


	2. among the lepers

Chapter Two:

Among the Lepers

Kay closed the door of a leper's hospital behind me, one long ago established by my father in his piety. The shuttered windows were boarded up, the glass and lead long since stolen; a few slits of sunlight shafted in through the cracks.

"Not nearly so grand as the palace, but it serves it purpose." Kay lit a lamp on a table, a board set upon two barrels, and with a smile unrolled a shabby bit of damask, frayed at the edges, doubtless snatched from my father's table. He set out a pair of wooden cups, then stooped down, stirring the embers beside the stone wall. He must have seen my dubious look at the blackened hunk of meat on the spit. "No rats for you, have no fear. An unfortunate duck from your father's pond." He turned the scrawny bird on the spit, then satisfied, drew his knife and sliced off a few hunks of dark meat. "There's mead in a cask in the back, if you wish to help yourself."

I smiled, returning with two cups brimming with mead. "Have you been saving this?"

"Against my princess' return." He smiled as he offered me a barrel to sit upon. He leaned forward as he gnawed at the sinewy bird. "Angharad, may I suggest gathering the princes of the realm – "

"We must tend to Camelot. At least bring food. How shall we feed the lords of the realm? 'Twould not reflect so well upon us."

"We have no money."

I choked on the blackened duck. "No money? What of the treasury of Camelot?"

"Not a penny. And do not think of levying taxes upon your subjects, or you'll be facing revolt as well." He stared grimly into his cup. "I do not know how we shall afford to eat until the crops recover."

"Saddle us with debt, I suppose. We can always pay it off later. Or perhaps if we approach the bishop-"

"The bishop?"

I looked up warily. "He is still here?"

"I suppose. Haven't seen anything of him after your father died." Kay tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"He is very wealthy."

"The man does more money than God." Kay rose from the table, slapping me on the shoulder. "We shall go to Bishop Drogo at first light, have him summon the princes for your coronation at Easter. It will be a few months before they're all gathered."

"Then we may see what can be done for the city in the meanwhile."

Kay tossed me the rest of the duck. He smiled, watching me devour it. "Sounds as worthy a plan as any."

I yawned, stretching luxuriously in the morning light as I threw aside my cape. Kay was lacing up his leather shoes; he tossed my boots to me.

The mystical sword glinted on the table where I had left it that night. Kay picked it up gingerly, giving it a few practice swings. "You made a quest for nothing. Its balance is off."

"Off?" Curious, I laced up my boots and swung my blade experimentally. I laughed, my soul exalting at the fell beauty of its song. Suddenly despite my despoiled kingdom, despite awakening that morning to discover myself a penniless orphan who was once the princess of Camelot, I rested secure. Even the light seemed to alter with the sword in my hand – golden dust-motes shafted from the rafters, bits of faerie clinging to my hair, and I saw in shadows and smoke a glorious world beyond my mean imaginings.

You may think me a witch. My father certainly did.

Kay, alarmed, snatched by arm, and pried the sword away. My world was once again dark and uncertain, stripped of romance.

He sheathed it in its scabbard, and returned it to me, crossing himself.

I buckled it on. "It is the most marvelous weapon I have ever encountered."

"Marvelous as Satan." He frowned deeper, then tossed me his cape. "Come, let us go. And not a word to Bishop Drogo about the sword, or we'll be lucky if we escape with a whipping."

His Excellency, Bishop Drogo, was a plump fellow with shifty black eyes set like buttons in his puffy white face, and had driven more men and women to the Old Ways than I can count – my own father, a most Christian king, found the bishop insufferable, and nearly erupted a war with Rome to see him dispossessed.

Remembering that, I closed the door behind myself as I entered the bishop's luxurious quarters; the shutters drawn tight against the light of day. The bishop himself was writing when he saw me; he looked up with a deep frown. "Angharad Pendragon. I was not expecting you."

"I've come about Camelot."

"Camelot? We can scarcely call her such now." He pulled out a chair before him, and leaned back in the scarlet and black cloth of his office. A heavy gold crucifix swayed on a gilt chain before my eyes, the links buried in the folds of fat on his neck. He must have seen me eye the gold with evident hunger, for he twisted the crucifix uncomfortably. "I advise you to abandon this folly. You shall be gaining nothing by claiming your father's crown."

"But I must. It's all I ever wished," I said softly, "to do my father proud, be the envy of my nation-"

"You are too young."

I rose in disgust.

"You are too young to run a kingdom." Bishop Drogo leaned forward. "You are a seventeen-year-old girl, unmarried, untested and untried – we have not the luxury of taking a child by the hand. You shall leave us open to the encroachments of our enemies-"

"Let us leave that for the princes of the realm to decide." I drew a deep breath, as taking in the bishop's beady black eyes, marshalling my courage. "I demand all your gold."

He sputtered. "Are you some thief –"

"Your congregation is starving while you sit in luxury. I must buy grain from Londinium. It is my first action, as queen of Camelot." I pulled myself up to my full height. "Feed my sheep, that is what the Good Lord said. And if you shall not, I will."

Grumbling, the bishop pulled himself out of his chair and opened a secret catch in the wall, below his Byzantine crucifix. He set out golden monstrances studded with semiprecious stones – crystal, jasper, topaz, opal, a thousand shifting lights that nearly made me dizzy with the opulence. I have not seen such wealth since I last took leave of my father . . . Then more liturgical vessels – a chased silver chalice, one of gold, a pylix in ivory, a statuette of the Virgin and Child wrought cunningly in silver. . . Kay grimly added each to the bag as the bishop clucked over his favorite pieces, caressing them.

Kay tossed the last gold plate in and turned to me. "We must depart, princess."

I regarded the bulging bag. "Will that be enough?"

"Enough to satisfy those in Camelot for a few weeks." He hefted the sack over his shoulder, and nodded to the bishop. "Send letters to all the lords of the realm. It is not right for the high king's throne to sit empty. We must elect a successor."

Bishop Drogo regarded me doubtfully.

"We must have government, Bishop. Surely you understand that."

"At the price of my silver-"

"We shall requite your love anon," I replied, but the language of the court was forced and awkward to my ears. "I shall repay you," I amended, blushing.

Kay adjusted his leper's bandages before the barred and bolted door of the archbishop's mansion. I tossed a few of the chalices into a burlap bag myself, drawing back the bolts. "Where shall we go now?"

"Well, first we'll bury our ill-gotten gains," he said with a wink as he slapped me on the shoulder. "Then we shall find the wizard Merlin, and bring him back as well. We shall need more allies when the princes come."

"Then you shall go to Londinium."

"Londinium? You shall go to Londinium," Kay replied with a wink. "Need somebody behind with some expertise in building. We're repair the silo and the treasury, so we'll have some place to put the grain, and piece together the walls-"

"And see some habitation is provided for the lords. And repair the Table."

Kay looked at me in amazement. "Repair the table? That will take weeks. Have you ever wielded a saw?"

I shook my head, laughing.

"I suspect, Angharad," he said with a grin, "that this shall be the beginning of a long and arduous education."


	3. dear readers

Dear readers:

I'm glad you've all been enjoying Morte D'Arthur so much. The rest of it is currently residing on Coming up you'll see Angharad's encounters with Morgan le Fey, not to mention her seduction by Mordred. (yes, that is how this story has earned its PG-13 rating.)

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